


“Hold my hand until it’s over?”

by courageous_boss



Series: Three Birds and a Baby (a Batfamily AU) [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Love, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageous_boss/pseuds/courageous_boss
Summary: Dick and Tim’s inevitable friendship, as witnessed by the residents of the Wayne Manor.Or, the tale of two introverts.





	1. Jason

**Author's Note:**

> Ages:  
> Dick - 12/13  
> Jason - 16  
> Tim - 4

As most good things were in the Wayne Manor, it was Jason who first had the idea of introducing Dick and Tim.

Little Timothy Drake from next door was too young to be so closed off and quiet. It was painfully obvious to everyone but the adults caring for him that he lacked affection and care. It was often that Mr. and Mrs. Drake left home to visit archaeological sites and Jason went out of his way to volunteer to watch their young child while they were away.

The more time Jason spent with Tim, the more grateful he was for Bruce. Bruce might be awkward and embarrassing and barely stumbling through parenthood – but at least he was _trying_. Tim’s parents treated him as an accessory to good living – seen and not heard and never expected to behave like a child.

Then, there was Dick.

Dick was silent most of the time. Even when deep in a panic attack, Jason had noticed him swallowing his sounds, deathly afraid of making a noise. He didn’t seem to think that he _should_ express himself. He kept his opinions to himself. Maybe, if Jason pushed him enough, he’d shake his head in approval or admit that he hated how cauliflower tasted. It wasn’t enough. Jason wanted noise in the hallways. He wanted a little brother yammering on about cartoons and fairy tales and imaginary games.

Jason expected Tim and Dick to get on well. They had a lot in common. Tim had learned a long time ago that being loud and expressive was a luxury that he was only granted in certain company. Dick had been punished and tortured into silence. They were both self-reliant, strong and resilient. Mostly, they were both in desperate need of a friend.

 

* * *

 

Jason knocked on Dick's door frame. The boy always had the door wide open, but it was only polite to announce he was coming in.

Dick turned from his position by the window, face lifting fractionally when he saw Jason. For some odd reason, the child was overly smitten with him. Jason couldn’t complain, though. Bruce was going above and beyond to get Dick to like him, but the kid stuck to Jason like glue.

Jason: 1. Bruce: 0.

“I’m going out. Want to come?” Jason asked.

As expected, a wave of emotions passed over Dick's face. He hadn’t been out of the Manor since Bruce had brought him home. But air and sunlight were important for growing children. Jason had read it in a book once.

“It’s just next door,” Jason assured. “You know the neighbours? The Drakes?”

Dick nodded, silent.

“Mr. and Mrs. Drake are out of the country for the weekend and I’m babysitting their kid. I usually sleep over. You can just come and hang out for a few hours.”

Dick look puzzled, head tilted and bottom lip pouting. Adorable.

“You’ll be there the whole time?” Dick asked.

Jason nodded, offering a hand out for Dick to hold. Hesitantly, Dick climbed off his perch and crossed the room to grab Jason’s hand. Dick’s hand was small and warm and slim. Just holding it made Jason feel a surge of protectiveness.

“It’ll be fun, I promise. The kid, Tim, he’s cool. He’s quiet, like you. And really smart. He tells a lot of jokes,” Jason rambled on and on, assuring Dick that there was nothing to be afraid of. Tim was only four years old and didn’t know enough in the way of social etiquette to notice that Dick was severely lacking in that department.

Dick gradually looked a bit less terrified and judging by the small quirk of his lips, might even be a bit excited. By the time the two boys had made their way over to the Drake household, Dick was holding himself looser and generally looked calmer.

“Tim,” Jason held one of Tim’s tiny four-year-old hands in one of his, “This is my new brother, Dick.”

“Dick,” Jason squeezed Dick’s hand, holding one of his trembling hands in his free one, “This is Tim.”

Amused, Jason watched as the two boys stared at each other in something akin to fascination.

“Hello,” Tim said shyly, cheeks pink. He leaned closer into Jason, forehead low enough to rest against Jason’s knee.

Dick watched as Jason pulled Tim closer, moving his hand to settle on Tim’s soft head of hair. Then, it was like a switch had flipped. Dick suddenly relaxed, shoulders lowering. Jason hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been until he saw even the muscles in Dick’s cheeks relax.

Very shyly, Dick smiled at Tim, cheeks just as pink and leaning into Jason just as much. “Hi.”

And that was that. Jason would move two steps forward. Dick and Tim would follow. Eyes glued to one another, blushing furiously and smiling ghost smiles. Jason settled them on the couch, setting up some random documentary about space for the boys to watch. Something with no blood or fighting or raised voices. Tim sat on one edge of the couch, body taut with skinny limbs carefully held to his person. Dick mirrored his position on the other edge of the couch.

“I’m going to get some snacks. You two good waiting in here?” Jason asked. He could see the chemistry between them already, but he didn’t want to push too hard too fast.

Tim and Dick glanced at each other, cheeks growing red and rosy when they caught one another. Then, they turned to Jason, nodding in sync. Jason beamed at them, so proud and slightly overwhelmed with cuteness.

He made quick work of getting some water and chips, heart singing when he returned. Tim and Dick and moved closer to each other. They still sat stiff and awkward, but their arms were pressed against each other. Fond, Jason watched as they resolutely stared at the screen, leaning into each other while simultaneously refusing to acknowledge one another.

Jason’s stomach was warm. Cute.


	2. Bruce

There were few things that could truly strike fear into the hardened heart of Batman.

Not knowing where his kid was – _high up on the list_.

Especially when said kid was a traumatized twelve-year-old assassin in training.

“Alfred?” Bruce poked his head into the kitchen, eyes searching every nook and cranny, even the rafters near the ceiling. Empty. Crap.

Alfred didn’t turn away from the stove, turning a spoon in a pot that Bruce was suspicious had an unnecessary amount of leafy greens in it. “Master Bruce, how may I help you?”

“Um, have you seen Dick anywhere?”

At this, Alfred turned around, brows bent in frustration. “You lost him? Already?”

“I didn’t!” Bruce insisted. “I just… don’t know exactly where he is.”

Alfred tutted disapprovingly. “For your sake, I hope you find him soon. The boy hasn’t had much chance to explore his surroundings yet. He may be afraid if he thinks himself lost.”

“Of course,” Bruce replied politely and then fled before Alfred could truly attack his expertise as a parent and went looking for Jason instead. It was always fairly easy to track Jason down, more so now that Jason hated his guts. The decision to keep Batman’s crusade from Jason hadn’t truly been Bruce’s idea, but even in retrospect, he’d do it again. As tense and brittle as his relationship with Jason may currently be, Bruce was grateful that his son was healthy and alive. He’d take a grumpy, sulky teenager with a grudge against him than a son who’d been injured or killed in Gotham’s streets any day.

Jason usually worked through his anger by pouring himself into literature that reflected his feelings, so Bruce made an educated guess, navigating through the Manor’s twisted hallways. He guessed right, ending up in the library with Jason grumbling that he was blocking the light.

“You wouldn’t have happened to see Dick anywhere?” Bruce asked, feigning nonchalance and failing.

Jason closed his book, quickly getting to his feet. He shot Bruce a murderous glare, “God’s sake, B. He barely leaves his room. How did you manage to lose him?”

Bruce scratched the back of his neck, “I took a call and when I went back to check on him, he was gone.”

Jason leveled a harsher glare.

“Just help me find him,” Bruce pleaded. “I’ll raise your allowance.”

“I don’t need your money,” Jason grumbled, “I, for one, actually care about the kid.” Then, he turned, smirked evilly and said, “Though that new Nintendo console looks cool.”

Bruce pulled him in close, ruffling his hair, “Lay off, would you? I really only left him for two minutes.”

There as a tense moment where Jason didn’t move, body stiff against his chest. Bruce felt his heart turn hard in his chest, _aching aching aching_. Then, Jason relaxed, going soft and leaning into the hold, hands pushing away playfully at the same time.

Laughing, Jason said, “Fine, I’ll cut you some slack. You aren’t exactly in your prime anymore, old man.”

Affronted, Bruce squeezed him tighter, barely choking down his own laughs, “Take that back. I’m not even thirty yet!”

Jason just squirmed out of his arms, running out of the room. “Try to keep up, old man.”

Bruce followed after him, chest still smarting, though somewhat soothed at that obvious effort Jason was making. Bruce was prepared for Jason to hold onto his anger for a lifetime – a betrayal such as this was not easily forgiven. Bruce was self-aware enough to realize that Batgirl’s existence would only make Jason assume that Bruce didn’t trust him, though the reality was exactly the opposite. Batgirl’s experiences in the field had only cemented Bruce’s decision that it was truly in Jason’s best interest to be in bed sleeping instead of crawling through sewers and chasing psychotic clowns.

Bringing Dick home had forced Bruce to finally let Jason in on the secret and the fallout had left Jason closed off and distance from him. Still, instead of directing any anger towards Dick, Jason had stepped up as a son and a brother. He’d freed up his schedule to spend time with Dick, and Bruce had even caught him reading books to coach him on how to help Dick through his PTSD attacks and flashbacks. Jason was a good boy and was growing into a strong, independent, caring young man. Bruce couldn’t have been prouder. To see him being the bigger man and making attempts to bridge the gaping hole in their own father-son relationship had Bruce’s smile permanent on his face.

Jason stopped at the glass sliding doors, looking out into the back yard. Bruce stood beside him, hand itching to lay on Jason’s shoulder. Bruce forced it to remain at his side, not wanting to pressure Jason too much.

“Just where I thought,” Jason gloated, thumb pointing outside, “He’s over there.”

And. Jason was right. As usual.

Dick was curled up in the far corner of the yard, body pressed against the fence separating the Wayne grounds from the Drake’s.

Bruce made to go fetch him, but Jason caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“He snuck out, so he’s probably going to think you’re angry with him,” Jason explained, brows bent seriously.  

Bruce grinned at his boy, chest warm and full. He couldn’t help himself. He pulled Jason tight against him, holding him close. Jason let the contact hold for a few seconds before pushing away, blushing madly.

He wagged his finger threateningly, “Don’t make him cry,” and then stomped away.

Almost floating, Bruce approached Dick, making noise to warn that he was coming. Surprisingly, Dick didn’t startle. In fact, as Bruce got closer, he realized that Dick was asleep. Eventually, Bruce got close enough that his steps stumbled to a stop.

Because. Dick was curled up in the grass. Napping like a kitten in the sun. So soft, so sweet. Everything Bruce had ever wanted for him. Bruce’s chest was under attack by little boys with too much love to give. His poor heart was squeezing painfully. On the other side of the fence, Tim Drake was mirroring Dick’s position. Curled up in the grass, fast asleep in the evening sun. The boys’ fingers were tangled together through the fence, clutching tightly to one another as they slept.

Too cute. Really. Bruce’s heart couldn’t take it. The boys were in no danger and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to wake them. So, he left them to their nap, retreating into the house.

Later, during dinner, Dick sat in his usual seat, eyes heavy with sleep. His clothes had grass stains and there were bits of dirt and leaves in his hair. Jason and Alfred shared a knowing look across the table as Bruce barely concealed his coo over his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (2) Bruce is noticeably relaxed and playful in his reactions with his family. This is mainly because he hasn't had to deal with the pressure and fear of having his kids out as vigilantes. Jason hasn't been murdered and Dick hasn't been beaten/shot. This comes in handy as his laidback attitude and desire to be more of a big brother/fun uncle kind of parent gives his kids room to find their place in the family dynamic without any pressure.


	3. Tim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: child character has a panic attack; said child character is too young to identify panic attack as such

The thing Tim most loved about Wayne Manor was its chaos.

The three residents took up a lot of space, moving, laughing, chatting. At any given moment, there was someone in the kitchen – cooking meals, stealing snacks or hiding away from tickling fingers. There was always music playing – jazz if Alfred chose, pop rock if Jason chose or some random Youtube mix if Bruce chose. The hallways were witness to constant movement, urgent steps and sleepy night patrols as Bruce tucked his sons into bed.

Tim loved the bustle. Craved the busyness and the noise. So different from the still, stagnancy of his own home.

So.

_Why was it making his skin crawl today?_

Bruce was laughing his strange, muted hum laugh, shoulders shaking, and eyes crinkled. Jason had teamed up with Alfred, the pair acting as serious as possible about why zucchini was absolutely necessary for tonight’s dinner.

Usually, Tim would squeeze against Jason’s side until the older boy ruffled his hair. Today, Tim wanted to hide.

Too much noise. Too much movement. Too many people in the room. Too much light. Too many smells. Voices. Spoons clattering. Some sort of red sauce on the stove. And. That hum laugh of Bruce’s. Again.

“Timmy?”

Tim flinched. Too close. Too much.

“Timmy? Are you okay?”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, curling into a ball. He needed to get away. His ears were ringing. His skin felt cold and prickly. Like someone was drawing a hundred pictures on his skin at once. He needed to get away. Too much. Too loud.

“Jason. Be quiet. Timmy’s upset.”

More movement. Less noise.

Ringing in his ears.

Tingling in his fingers.

His teeth hurt.

His nose ached.

His head felt full and heavy.

Then – “Timmy? I’m going to hold your hand, okay?”

Soft, gentle pressure on his hand. Sucking out all the horrible, big, bloating weight that had been growing inside him. Seconds, minutes, hours passed. Slowly, the ringing lessened, and his skin didn’t tingle as much. Hesitantly, he peeked open his eyes. _When had he closed his eyes_?

He wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. He was tucked away in the corner of the library, knees pressed hard against the floor. He shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Feeling better?”

Dick. The voice was Dick’s. It was just the two of them in the library. No movement save the falling and rising of their chests. No noise save their whispering voices. Safe. Quiet.

Tim looked around, mind heavy. He was exhausted. Strung out and squashed at the same time.

He looked down, fingers tightly wrapped up in Dick’s. He squeezed. “Hold my hand until it’s over?”

“Of course.” Dick nodded, voice still soft, movements still minute. Quiet. Safe.


	4. Alfred

It wasn’t often that the downstairs library was unoccupied so whenever Jason intended to be out for more than a few hours, Alfred took the opportunity to clean the room. Save the kitchen and the Cave, the library was the most lived-in room in the house. The couch needed to be cleaned gently and the books needed to be dusted carefully. Wear and tear showed in every layer and Alfred did his best to heal, not harm.

On that particular day, Bruce, Jason, and Dick were all out of the house, busy with some press related affair that required their attendance. The three had squeezed into their scratchy, uncomfortable suits and frowned their entire way out the door. Alfred had just ushered them out with promises of a hearty dinner upon their return and then quickly set to work.

He collected all the necessary cleaning supplies and headed to the room that would need the most effort.

“Oh my!” Alfred startled, hand reaching to clutch his chest.

There was an intruder in the house. Tucked away behind a wall of books on the couch. Said intruder squeaked, looking awfully guilty.  

“Mister Timothy,” Alfred said, half scolding. Surely the boy’s parents had taught him that it was rude to enter another’s home uninvited and unannounced.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pennyworth. Please don’t call my parents. I’ll leave, I promise,” Tim begged, eyes wide and frantic.

All small and curled up on the couch, the desperate look on his face stirred Alfred’s stomach unpleasantly.

“What are you doing, child?” Alfred asked, eyes searching curiously.

Tim blushed, small hands clutching tightly at the book he’d been reading. “Research.”

It had been so long since Alfred had last interacted with a child. He’d forgotten how endearing they could be. His smile grew easily, “I see. May I ask what the nature of your _research_ is?”

Tim hesitated, bottom lip gnawing between his teeth for a few moments. His blush brightened and he said shyly, “I was trying to learn about Dick.”

“Oh,” Alfred’s eyebrows climbed. Cleaning long forgotten, he took a seat besides Tim, “May I have a look at what you’re reading?”

Tim squirmed, hunching protectively over the thick book.

Alfred smiled softly at the squirming kid. “You’re not in trouble, child. I promise.” When Tim still looked unsure, Alfred offered out a pinkie. Voice light and fond he swore, “Pinkie promise?”

Tim’s eyes widened to the size of saucers at the lack of formality. Then, he nodded surely, linking his own pinkie, “Okay, Mr. Pennyworth.”

He passed the book over, unoccupied fingers fumbling in his lap. Alfred recognized the book as once Jason had read a while back.

[_The PTSD Workbook by Mary Beth Williams_](https://www.newharbinger.com/ptsd-workbook-third-edition)

The first thought that crossed his mind was that the book was way above Tim’s reading level. If the boy had been able to read and comprehend the words, Alfred didn’t doubt that he was nothing short of a genius. The second thought that crossed his mind was a strange blossoming of warmth in his chest. Children never failed to be kind and caring, a fact proved true every day Alfred lived in the Wayne Manor.

Alfred laughed shortly, “So you noticed, then? How he gets scared sometimes?”

Alfred could see the gears in Tim’s mind working away to process his statements. For such a young child, Tim was very analytical and sharp. He nodded surely after a few moments.

“Yes, sir. Sometimes, if I talk too loudly or if I move when he isn’t expecting it, he runs away or gets very quiet. I’ve seen him do it with you and Mr. Bruce as well.”

“You’re very vigilant, Tim,” Alfred praised, smiling at the soft blush his statement rose. “Dick has been treated very badly by some very bad people. He’s safe now – Bruce has assured that – but he’s still recovering.”

“What happened to him?” Tim asked curiously. Alfred couldn’t help but seeing a tiny Bruce in his place for a second.

“The details aren’t necessary. Maybe one day, when you’re both older, Dick will speak with you about it. It’s his story to tell,” Alfred told him. “I will tell you and Dick’s parents died several years ago. He was sent to live with some relatives who didn’t take care of him properly.”

The detached, haunted look in Tim’s eyes told Alfred that he could relate to that too well. Alfred was suddenly worried that he was burdening a young child with heavy, grown-up thoughts. Maybe he was being too direct. Tim was, after all, much younger than both Dick and Jason.

Trying to avoid confusing the child, Alfred explained, “Sometimes, Dick may react to things differently than you would expect. Cold, especially, can make him very panicky. He could get angry and grumpy, or, more likely, shut down completely.”

“A panic attack?” Tim asked.

Alfred was shocked. How did Tim know about panic attacks? At four years old, the child should now be learning about dinosaurs and planes. Not anxiety disorders.

Not wanting the boy to think he’d done anything wrong, Alfred planted a gentle smile of approval on. “Yes, exactly. When Dick has a panic attack it’s especially important to be respectful of his space. Don’t yell at him and only touch him after he gives permission. If you’re alone and you think you need help, come to me, Bruce or Jason. Or any other trusted adult.”

Tim thought over his words seriously for a while, brows furrowed. When he finally looked back at Alfred, there was fear and dread creeping into his eyes. The effect was haunting on his young face and Alfred felt the temperature in the room dim a few degrees.

In a tiny voice, Tim said, “Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Yes, child?” Alfred said, voice tense to hide his tremor.

Tim hesitated, bottom lip trapped between his teeth again. “Sometimes, I feel like that too.”

“I see.”

“It’s not the same as Dick. Not with yelling and flinching. It’s more like. My parents leave. And. I just feel so _alone_. Is that bad?”

Alfred placed a strong, gentle hand over Tim’s small one, squeezing tightly. “You should never have to feel like that. Never.”

Tim’s hand trembled under his. He turned his big, watery eyes on Alfred, face tight and drawn and pinched in disbelief. Then, he catapulted forward, burrowing deep against Alfred’s chest, silent tears dribbling down his cheeks. Alfred held him, rubbing calming circles into his back, rage stirring inside him.

Tim deserved love and affection from his parents and if they weren’t willing to give that to him. Well. There was plenty of room in the Wayne Manor for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (4) **The PTSD Workbook** is designed to help those with PTSD conquer their most challenging symptoms. Each trauma type is accompanied by practical exercises to help readers recognize and then manage their trauma symptoms. [source](https://qr.ae/TWGLtP)


	5. Dick

Dick was _tired_.

He was tired of flinching away from Bruce. Tired of checking and rechecking that Jason was still tucked away in bed at night. Tired of crouching into the corner anytime Alfred so much as _moved_ strangely.

Tired, tired, tired, all the way down to his _bones_.

Most of all, he was tired of keeping this secret from Bruce. Tired of knowing _He_ was still out there. Tired of the relief that brought him. Tired of the solid, cold fear that came too.

“Dick? Are you okay?” Tim asked, voice soft and cautious. He’d knocked three times now against Dick’s door frame, but Dick had shown no response. He was just sitting on the window sill, staring listlessly into the backyard.

Dick heard only the muffled sound of a small voice. It wasn’t raised or approaching, and he didn’t have the energy to react to something was probably wasn’t a threat.

Tim frowned, hands clenched tightly at his sides. So, this was it then. This was what Alfred had warned him about. What Jason had read to him about. What Bruce had swallowed down every time Tim jumped onto Dick’s lap. Tim’s stomach churned, angry that someone had been responsible for this. Angry that someone had hurt his Dick. Dick who smiled and laughed and gave the best cuddles. Dick who only deserved the best.

Judging by what Alfred had explained, Tim didn’t think that this was a panic attack. Dick wasn’t shaking or hiding. He just – wasn’t doing much of anything. Just sitting there, breathing deep and heavy. Back bent under the weight of the world.

Tim wasn’t sure if Dick would want him here. Watching him caught in a wave of what was most likely anxiety and depression. But. Tim couldn’t just _leave him_.

Eyebrows bent and lips pouted seriously, Tim took a few determined steps into the room, climbing onto Dick’s bed and curling up like a kitten. The bed was near enough to the window that Tim could be close in case he was needed, yet far enough that Dick wasn’t crowded.

Tim took position to watch guard over Dick. All thoughts of rainbows and diffraction and light spectrum vanished, clearing away as he studied Dick. The older boy seemed weighed down by some invisible force. A force that Tim recognized all too well – sadness. This was something Tim understood. Sometimes, when he hadn’t seen his mummy in a long time, dark, cold finders would wander into his dreams and squeeze all the happiness out of him. He’d wake with tears in his eyes and a horrible, heavy loneliness clinging to his bones. This wasn’t something Tim would wish upon anyone – most of all Dick. No one deserved to feel that terrible sorrow.

Tim couldn’t be sure how long he’d been keeping watch when suddenly, Dick’s shoulders quivered and a single, soft sob spilled from his lips. Dick curled into it, face burying in his knees. Startled, Tim froze, chest stilling in panic. When another sob came, and then another and another, Tim crossed the room hastily, small, gentle fingers slotting themselves between Dick’s.

“Dick? It’s me. Tim. I’m here,” Tim said, squeezing Dick’s hand tightly. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

Face pressed hard against his knees, Dick sobbed harder. His ears were ringing. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t move. Just – a deep weariness.

“Tired,” Dick whispered, words catching on another sob.

“I know. I’m sorry. You’re sad? That’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Dick cried harder, fingers gripping tightly onto Tim’s tiny ones. He clung onto the only warmth he could find. The only light he could find when everything else seemed dark and grey and cold.

Tim moved closer, pressing up firmly against Dick’s body. Dick shifted slightly, making room for Tim on the window sill. Tim clambered up but instead of sitting beside Dick, he crawled onto Dick’s lap and plastered himself across Dick’s chest.

Tim clutched tightly onto him, face buried into his shoulder. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Dick hugged him, tension flowing out of his shoulders. With Tim shielding his chest, Dick felt looser. Freer. Safer. His tears came lighter and faster, draining the wretched, churning uneasiness from his core. The two boys held one another, tears dripping down their cheeks and clutching desperately onto each other.

The clouds over his brain began to clear and Dick became aware of his surroundings once more. Tim was here. Protecting him. Shielding him. Holding him.

Tim was here.

Dick was safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Dick is often found perched on [this](https://nationalhomeimprovement.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/bay-window-300x221.jpg) bay window. I refer to it as a window sill because he really isn't meant to be there. It's for pots and plants -- not prepubescent boys.
> 
> \--  
> disclaimer: i do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps, particularly ones with ad revenue and subscription services


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